How Old Should My Baby Be To Eat Mum Mums

12th stage: Pedrouzo-Santiago de Compostela (23 km trails, tot. 299, hours of travel 6-11.30).

I've done it. On 18 August I finally reached the conclusion rambling of my trip. The last leg of the journey of Santiago as if made to bring a little 'abruptly pilgrims in this world where you are temporarily absent (who only twelve days, like me, who for forty or more). And here I open a parenthesis: it's a strange feeling, at least for me, not to receive news about the world if only for a few days. And in my case the information was almost complete isolation, because when I used to eat at a bar or restaurant where there was a TV on, and always sent only Olympic events. I heard that the Russians had invaded Georgia from a sms from my brother, but the bar is still quietly watching a tennis match, and the paucity of my English did not allow me to apologize, war broke out, can change the channel? In short, if in these twelve days (sixteen, counting two to Barcelona and two travel to Italy) there was another September 11 I would not have noticed. Effect? not so bad. I have in mind what Oscar Wilde said: It is sad to note that nowadays are so few information. Few in relative terms, not absolute. Because now we have all the information we want, but the vast majority are false or unnecessary. And I knew this already, but I felt better walking through deserts and forests. Closed in parentheses.
I said the pilgrim returning abruptly in the world, leaving Pedrouzo you through a eucalyptus forest, surrounded by complete darkness and scent. Then the poem gives way to the highway, airport and the outskirts. Once out of the woods (it must have been seven in the morning) I met a distinguished gentleman who was stationed there to intercept the pilgrims and provide beds in a retirement center. Welcome back to reality.
(Oh, by the way, I refused just because I had already booked the day before the board cheaper than Santiago. I know it's inconsistent with the spirit of a pilgrim, but after the incident I did not want to get Melide the goal after three hundred miles and having to make the rounds of the seven churches before finding a bed.)
past the industrial zone, accompanied by the sound of traffic, finally arriving in the old city, which is a gem, and one can see the peaks of Cathedral, which is a wonder. There, now the journey is done.
God, took a horn. After a couple of days of tourism in the company of two Romans found to retirement, I started my little odyssey. And it is true that every trip teaches you something: the trip to Turin Santiago taught me not to mock those compatriots encountered along the way, who took back TGV from Madrid to Paris and made the exchange. For sure it took less time than me thirteen hours by bus from Santiago de Compostela in Irun, where you take the train to pass and reach the French border in Hendaye, four and a half hours by train from Toulouse to Hendaye, another six hours of train from Toulouse to Nice, and the prospect of spending the night at the station for ten minutes because I miss the last train to reach Turin in the evening.
I do not know what I mean.
August 20, 2008, approximately 13 hours. Are returned from twelve days of running, 300 miles driven, I carry around a backpack that weighs a fifth of me, last night I spent in buses, and the risk of being next in the waiting room of the station in Nice . At this point Providence, which had to Arzua taken the form of three Irish girls, decides to again give me a hand written on the form of an electronic scoreboard at the station of Toulouse: the train stops at Montpellier to Nice, Marseille, Toulon, St. Raphael , Cannes and Antibes. I vaguely remember hearing that a friend of mine has a house in Antibes, and my friend, should be contacted, please note that in Antibes, in addition to the house, two ancestors that may provide the key to that. I'm safe.
Antibes is a town on the Riviera, a charming tourist and unequivocally. Yet used up early on as a pilgrim, I stroll in the early morning when the vendors prepare stalls with all kinds of junk. There's nothing more amazing than watching crap how many are for sale. Indeed, something so: to think that if someone sells them, sooner or later someone else will buy. Maybe it was really
Providence will I break or educational purposes, to teach the moral of the story. And the moral is that it's funny, after traveling for a couple of weeks strictly following the philosophy of the essential, return to the world of the superfluous. The holidays are just over.